


Nothing to Lose but the Dawn

by CelenaCallaghan



Series: Izzy's Adventures in Azeroth [3]
Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics), World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Relationship(s), Romance, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelenaCallaghan/pseuds/CelenaCallaghan
Summary: Izzy Ambershield vowed to aid Sylvanas Windrunner in ending the Lich King once and for all. But distractions abound in the form of Scourge, Alliance, and even members of their own faction. As they strive closer to their goals, they stray further from what matters most: each other.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Female Character(s), Varian Wrynn/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Izzy's Adventures in Azeroth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896907
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Year 27**

The explosion over the sea sent a shockwave to the ground her warhorse stood upon but the undead beast didn’t so much as shift. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at the plume of smoke that rose in the distance. Another surprise attack by the Alliance. Another of her ships lost. With the supply lines made precarious thanks to the human wretches, prudence and efficiency were called for when it came to engaging in combat. Yet they wasted more artillery and resources defending those same lines that could have been spent on pushing back Arthas’ forces. The Hand of Vengeance should have made more progress in the six months since landing in Northrend but were stymied at every turn.

It was enough to try even her patience.

Flashes of gold came from the skirmish below on the stretch of land between Vengeance Landing and the skeleton of the Alliance strike force. A small smirk hooked the corner of her mouth. Isoldera, hair braided and wielding a two handed mace, smashed aside a soldier going for one of her people and stood over the fallen Forsaken, her stance protective and threatening. Her hands and weapon blazed with power and the soldier leaped to his feet. A testament to the priestess’ new magic.

For months her little light worked with the smiths and pushed her skills further than they thought possible to produce enchantments for weapons and armor. The magic was just as potent as the Light against the Scourge but could be wielded by her people without harm. The look of radiant pride and pleasure on Isoldera’s soot-streaked face when she presented the first of their successful attempts still brought a genuine smile to her face.

The weight of a stare settled over her and she skimmed the battlefield before meeting a pair of golden eyes.

No matter how far apart they were, they always found each other. Isoldera drew her like a lodestone and she tilted her head in the slightest acknowledgment. Whether or not her little light saw it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warm, tender look on Isoldera’s face. As though her presence was a cause for joy, not disgust. Sometimes she still feared it was a beautiful, impossible dream and held onto Isoldera’s love with both hands. Other moments left her hesitant to accept it for fear of being seen as weak. The moment broke when a volley of arrows rained over the field, striking foe and ally alike. Unease twisted in her chest and caused her to clutch harder at the reins but Isoldera cast a shield spell and the arrows fell aside. She stomped over to the Dark Ranger who’d loosed and pointed at her. Sylvanas released a breath she didn’t need, hadn’t realized she held, and frowned.

“My queen?” Anselm, the High Executor acting as her representative, sat on his own horse at her side. His tone was respectful but cautious.

“Those arrows would have struck our people as easily as the Alliance.” She shot Anselm a look. “Or did you fail to notice that, High Executor?”

“Of course not, Dark Lady, but it’s surely a trifling matter, what with the Amber Witch out there.”

She kept her tone cool. “And what does one priestess have to do with anything?”

“Forgive my impertinence.” He bowed his head. “But she has proven to be rather protective of those she claims as ‘her’ patients. I believe she considers all of us ‘hers.’ Not that we mind,” he hastened to add. “It’s a relief to have a reliable healer in the field, if a bit baffling, considering her position among the living.”

“Have the other healers been lacking?” Nothing would jeopardize her mission to eliminate Arthas.

“None of ours, I assure you. The adventurers and ones sent from Orgrimmar on the other hand.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Adventurers came and went everyday and the troops from Orgrimmar immediately headed north to the taunka’le village. Her lip curled in disgust. The Forsaken worked to clear and establish not one but two camps in the Howling Fjord, the first Horde settlements on the damned continent, yet were brushed off as merely a waypoint. Even Venomspite, their newest base in Dragonblight, could barely keep afloat thanks to the Scarlet Onslaught. How those blighted zealots survived in Northrend remained a mystery but one she had no intention of solving. 

Only eliminating.

Through a combination of her people, Isoldera, and an adventurer’s efforts, the Alliance forces were soon routed back to Valgarde. No doubt they’d try another ambush on the next supply ships. The humans had the advantage in that Valgarde was established long before Vengeance Landing but her people had tenacity. They desired an end to the Alliance as much as she did, all they needed was the opportunity. They couldn’t afford to keep wasting resources on them when the Scourge clawed at their fringes. She drummed her fingers against her hip. Something had to be done about the Alliance.

But what?

* * *

Izzy left the cleanup to Lyana but they were going to have  _ words _ later. A few stray arrows wounded some of the Forsaken troops and other adventurers on the field. She chewed the other woman out but not nearly as much as she would have liked. Her focus shifted to getting the severe cases back to the tent for healing. She patched them up enough to make sure they didn’t die but she couldn’t do the more delicate work out in the open. If any stray Alliance came by, she and her patients would be sitting ducks.

“Get the most critical to the medical tent. Anyone who can walk; use your weapon, find a branch, anything, and make your way back.” She rode at the head of a line of wounded, the worst levitating around her.

“Med tent’s not ready to receive them.”

“What?” Her eyes flashed to the troll shaman who’d supposedly been assigned to be her assistant.

“We not be expecting so many undead.”

Flickers of gold fire rose on her skin. “What are you talking about? Did you not see the battle?”

He huffed. “I be seeing it, priestess. And all the bodies.”

“Then why - ?” She froze. Her voice dropped several octaves. “You assumed the Forsaken would eat the corpses.”

“They be undead. It’s what they do. I be seeing it myself.” He spat on the ground in front of her.

“You - you - ” She pointed to the zeppelin tower, arm shaking in rage. “Get your ass on the next ship. You and anyone else who feels that way. If I see you in my healing tent again, I’ll smite your ass from here to the Twisting Nether.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t do that. You not be having the authority.”

Izzy’s jaw tightened and she clenched her fist to show him  _ exactly _ how he could go to the Nether when a welcome voice chimed in,

“But I do.”

A shiver shot down her spine at the haunting, silk over steel threat in Sylvanas’ voice. She turned and bowed, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks. “My Lady. May I leave this in your capable hands? Since I ‘don’t have the authority’ to discipline him?”

At her lady’s imperious nod, Izzy took the chance to touch Vana’s calf discretely and retreated to the medical tent. The dismissal by some troll nobody shouldn’t have bothered her the way it did. She spent months proving to herself and the Forsaken that she belonged there, a contributor both in and out of the med tent. She stretched the bounds of her new powers further than she thought possible and taught others who wanted to learn of Belore, yet it never felt like enough. She still had no authority beyond a basic healer. She wasn’t even in charge of the med tent. That role went to a Forsaken who barked at her to get to work. As she methodically made her way through patients, ensuring they each received her attention and care, Izzy glanced at the open tent flap.

She needed to talk to Vana.

Her chance came late, after the evening meal in the mess hall, but she wasn’t going to let it pass by. Izzy made her way to Sylvanas’ quarters at the barracks, pausing as she ran into a pair of Dark Rangers guarding the door.

“I need to discuss the skirmish with the Dark Lady.”

They exchanged looks. Clea pursed her lips but Anya turned and knocked on the door. It opened a crack and she murmured to whoever stood on the other side. Izzy traced her fingers along her belt, her only sign of unease. Anya nodded and stepped aside. She thanked them both before stepping inside and closing the door.

Vana stood over a map littered with figures and buildings but looked up when she entered.

Izzy didn’t wait. She crossed the room and embraced the woman she loved, aching for her closeness and touch. Vana started for a moment before an arm wrapped around her shoulders and lips pressed to the top of her head.

“I missed you.”

“You saw me earlier, little light.” The bemused tone in Sylvanas’ voice made her smile.

“Hours ago.” Izzy teased back and leaned up for a kiss.

Sylvanas hummed and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a firm, confident dance that sent tingles through Izzy’s body. The gentle press and slight tug on dry, somewhat chapped lips. The brush of a metal-clad fingertip along her jaw. Izzy clung to her with shaking arms and parted her lips for a deeper kiss but Sylvanas didn’t take the invitation. Instead, she pulled back but didn’t release Izzy from her embrace. Fighting her disappointment and confusion, Izzy cocked her head with a silent question.

“I merely desire to keep my focus. You kiss in a most distracting manner.” Cold, gloved fingers trailed over her braid and teased some of the curls that inevitably came loose over the course of the day. “You were magnificent on the battlefield.”

“All in a day’s work.” She kept her tone light and cheerful but chewed on her lower lip. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

She gently tugged on Vana’s hand and led her to the bed. When Sylvanas cocked a brow, Izzy huffed.

“There’s no sofa in here, nor a chair big enough for both of us, and I want to hold you for a little while.” She paused a bit her lip as a fearful thought crossed her mind. “Unless you don’t want to?”

She hated feeling so uncertain when it came to Vana. They worked hard together to ensure the Hand of Vengeance tasted victory time and again, all in line with their agreement to court secretly. But they rarely had a moment together. She constantly had to watch what she did or said in front of others so as not to give away the depth of her feelings for the Banshee Queen. She wasn’t naive. If any of their enemies discovered their bond, Izzy would be the one hunted. She wasn’t surrounded by dozens of guards nor did she possess the supernatural strength and power that Sylvanas had. It didn’t change the fact she wanted to be close but never felt further away.

Sylvanas’ features softened and she sighed. “Very well but not for long. There are other matters that require my attention.”

It stung but she tried not to let her hurt show. It was simply the truth. Sylvanas had numerous responsibilities and her drive to eliminate Arthas had never been higher. Izzy would take what she could get until the war turned. She slid into the bed and pulled Sylvanas to her side. As much as she wanted to burrow into the other woman’s arms, she wanted to hold her more. So she pulled the Banshee Queen close and tucked her hooded head under her chin. The immediate sigh of contentment made her smile.

Ever since the moment in Sylvanas’ study after Belore blessed her, Izzy made sure to hold Sylvanas close to her heart, where her magic pulsed strongest, whenever she could. She closed her eyes and concentrated on sending out waves of power in a soothing aura. A trick she mastered quickly when she realized what her magic did for the other woman. Vana held her tighter.

“I’ve missed your warmth,” she murmured.

Izzy stroked her hand over Vana’s hood and down to rub her shoulder. “You’ve been working hard. I think you need a bit of time with a healer.”

The two of them shared a chuckle and more of the tension drained from Sylvanas’ face and shoulders. Izzy frowned. Deeper lines cracked and fanned out from her eyes. The tender skin flaked, dry and necrotized, and her collarbone stuck out more than usual. Concern flared. Normally, Sylvanas kept herself in immaculate condition. To see her so worn down...Izzy held her tighter. She was supposed to be Vana’s lover. She should have seen how tired she was and intervened sooner.

“Can your duties wait even a night?” Izzy pleaded.

The frown lines returned. “We haven’t progressed as far as I planned. It’s disgraceful. Six months, only to be stymied at every turn.”

“Surely one night won’t - ”

Vana pulled away, sharp and final, her frown deepening into a scowl. “There is nothing more important than ending Arthas.”

“And we’re going to,” Izzy insisted.

“It isn’t so simple. The Alliance, our poor supply lines, and the lack of support troops are merely the largest problems. Morale is falling. My people will be forced to give up this ground that we’ve fought so hard to secure. I refuse to allow that.”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Izzy sat up and faced her, frustration coloring her voice. “I see all that and more. Medical supplies dried up weeks ago. Bandages, potions, poultices, all of it has been consumed. The healers have been relying on nothing but our powers and whatever we can trade from adventurers or scrounge from local herbs.”

Vana’s eyes widened briefly but she didn’t retort. Izzy reached out and took her lover’s hands, shoulders set, and breathed in and out until she was sure she could moderate her tone. She didn’t want to accuse but demonstrate that she was an ally. Izzy let the tension drain from her and continued, voice gentle but firm.

“You may be the Forsaken Queen, more powerful than any mortal, the strongest of your people, but you still need rest. It makes no difference how much power you have if you’re too worn down to wield it properly.”

“I do not have the luxury of rest.”

“It’s not a luxury,” Izzy insisted. “It’s a necessity. You would say the same to any recruit who worked themselves into such a state.”

Sylvanas bristled. “That was a long time ago.”

“And yet I fail to believe that the woman I know would be so careless with the lives of her people. Or herself.” Izzy cocked a brow in challenge until Vana looked away. “That’s what I thought.” She drew the gloves from Sylvanas’ hands and started massaging the stiff fingers and cold palms. “You always carry so much tension in your hands.”

Izzy wished she could do more to help. Dancing the line of propriety and threats from within and without kept her cautious. But they were alone so she would do all she could to ease Sylvanas’ burdens if just for one night. She lifted the cold hand and pressed a kiss to the rigid, bony knuckles before cradling them against her cheek. And when those fingers closed around hers, she smiled.

* * *

She carried more than anyone knew. The weight of her peoples’ hopes, their lives, the effort of the Hand of Vengeance, each one was another stone laid across her shoulders. Of course she hadn’t missed the increase in her decay but there hadn’t been time to address it. Exhaustion strained the magic that kept her body together and the urge to hide her hands fought against her desire for Isoldera’s comfort. Worse, her mental barrier against Arthas’ whispers, strained from being in close proximity to the Frozen Throne, buckled every day.

Yet Isoldera’s touch soothed her on a soul-deep level. Knots of tension she didn’t know she carried dissolved under the healer’s talented hands. She found herself swaying towards her little light but she had to remain firm and focused. If she stopped striving, stopped working, fighting, plotting, then she lost her advantage and someone else could swoop in and steal the kill that was rightfully hers.

Never. She would die again first.

Her little light was a distraction. A beautiful, tempting distraction. How easy it would be to rest against Isoldera and let her troubles go for one night. But one chink in her armor would lead to more. If she took one night of rest, what would stop her from taking another? More? She squeezed Isoldera’s hand as her heart twisted. As much as she wanted Isoldera with her, Sylvanas debated the wisdom in keeping her near. She cleared her throat and gently took her hand away. A flash of disappointed hurt crossed her little light’s face and she refused to name the emotion that made her eyes dart away.

“You said you had something to discuss,” Sylvanas said, her tone neutral.

Isoldera frowned. “You’re changing the subject but I’ll let it go for now.” She took a breath and let it out, her eyes gleaming with purpose. “I was wondering if I could be promoted in some capacity.”

She stiffened. “Did that troll shake your confidence so badly when he is of little more consideration than a gnat?”

“That gnat had a point.” Isoldera remained outwardly calm but her eyes flashed with fire. “I’ve been here, by your side, as we both wanted but I feel stagnant. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging but I’ve done a lot for our cause. The enchantments, teaching others how to wield Belore’s power, contributing on the battlefield, cooking for the adventurers who come through Vengeance Landing, and yet I’m never publicly,  _ professionally _ , rewarded. People have started to talk.”

As Isoldera laid out her frustrations and made her points, a grim shadow fell over her. They agreed to keep their relationship professional in the public eye and that involved rewarding those in her service for doing well. But Sylvanas had kept such praise and rewards restrained to prevent talk of favoritism focused on her little light. 

“While I admit I have not publicly recognized you, my people have.” Sylvanas pointed out. “They call you the Amber Witch. When they see you in the field, they know there is at least one among the living who will fight for and care for them. They trust you.”

Isoldera smiled. “I’m glad. They’ve become my people too. Even that crabby old Thomas. Grand Master Chef my ass,” she muttered and coughed. “The point is, I’ve been challenged by outsiders who have little to no idea what I’ve done and I want a way to refute them so I don’t have to disturb you if something similar happens again.”

She couldn’t argue that logic. The Forsaken benefited from all of Isoldera’s hard work so they trusted and respected her. But her people were rarely heard in the greater Horde, dismissed until they were needed, treated as disposable because they were no longer among the living. Yet if she appointed one of the living to a position of power in her forces, she would face similar backlash as she had when she made Nathanos a Ranger Lord. Worse, if Arthas ever discovered the connection between them, Isoldera would be in constant danger. He would go to any lengths to snuff out her little light.

“Vana?” Gentle, callused fingers touched her face and jolted her from her thoughts. Isoldera smiled. “Welcome back. You went off in your own world.”

Though the priestess’ tone was light, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her words resonated like the clang of a death knell. If Isoldera left, Sylvanas would be alone again, the light taken with the priestess’ absence. Her hands trembled. But she would be safe. If she sent Isoldera away, suggesting she work and travel as an adventurer again, it would sever suspicions of a personal connection between them. That would keep her safe both from Arthas’ direct eye as well as her enemies within the Horde.

Perhaps she did require rest. She had a difficult choice to make.

“I think I have a solution.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is so I can either agree or build a counter argument?” she teased.

“I will tell you in the morning. Tonight I wish to enjoy your company.”

Isoldera cocked a brow at her. “And those other matters you needed to take care of?”

“It appears I’m under strict healer’s orders to rest.”

Sylvanas reached out and ran her fingers through the loose braid that only became messier since that afternoon. Carefully, she combed through the curls and unraveled strands until the purple-black curtain of her little light’s hair fell around her shoulders and down her back. Determined to enjoy what could potentially be the last night spent with Isoldera for the foreseeable future, Sylvanas rose. A sound of protest flew from Isoldera’s lips but she smiled in reassurance.

“Peace, little light. I merely wish to be comfortable.” With quick motions, she removed her armor, even her soft leathers, leaving her in only homespun cloth breeches and a loose linen shirt.

The neckline of the shirt drooped and she tightened the cords to close it. The last thing she needed was to expose her scar from Frostmourne to her little light. On stocking feet, she silently glided her way back to the bed and climbed in. Isoldera tilted her head in a silent question, still dressed in layers of cloth armor. She brushed stray curls from luminous gold eyes and trailed her fingers down Isoldera’s cheek.

“You are so lovely. It makes me question why, of all the people in Azeroth, you would choose me,” Sylvanas murmured.

“I will always choose you.”

She cocked a brow. “Even if you find a second partner?”

Isoldera nodded. “I’ll choose the both of you, then. Over and over, as many times as it takes for you to believe in me. But right now it’s just you.” Her voice softened. “It’s always been you, Sylvanas.”

How was it that the words she most wanted to hear could cut so deeply? She ached to choose Isoldera. To trust that the priestess could protect herself and stand at her side as an equal. But she couldn’t risk it. If she faltered for even a moment, she would lose everything she’d worked for since the day she broke free from Arthas’ control. It was only for a little while. A few months, perhaps a year at most. Eventually she would slay Arthas and then she could bring Isoldera back to her side where she belonged.

“Stay with me?”

Isoldera’s smile made her eyes glow like candles. “Always.”

The priestess rose, removed her armor and her trousers, and slid back into bed. Sylvanas shook her head in bemusement. Some things never changed. Isoldera’s habit of sleeping without trousers made for more than a few interesting mornings in the Farstrider barracks. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from the golden, muscled legs, the slight dimple on her left knee, and even her painted toes. When did her little light find time for something so frivolous? Yet she couldn’t deny the scarlet color was enticing and most likely inspired by her. A thought that warmed her as much as Isoldera’s magic. 

Her little light held out her arms and Sylvanas followed the lure until she lay nestled against Isoldera’s chest. Lassitude stole over her and grew when the priestess drew the blanket up and wrapped it around the two of them. Soft singing and a gentle hand rubbing her back coaxed her into the sleep of the dead; a deep, dark place that would allow her body to rest as the magics that kept her alive and intact recharged. There, she wouldn’t dream, but nor would she dread the coming dawn, when she would have to choose to say goodbye or risk everything to keep Isoldera with her.

All too soon, the stirrings of the forges, patrols, and other activities alerted Sylvanas to the new day. She opened her eyes to the most beautiful sight she’d seen in her undeath. Isoldera, chest rising and falling in peaceful slumber, one hand cupped near her cheek with the other entwined with her own, bathed in the pearly light of dawn. The thick blankets hid the curve of her hip but she caught a glimpse of her soft, full breasts beneath the thin under shirt. She reached out with her free hand and trailed her palm down the priestess’ side as a revelation struck her.

She wanted more. More mornings with Isoldera in her bed, where she could tease the priestess awake, or rest within her arms. The force of her longing only made what she needed to do harder but she would not waver.

She was the Banshee Queen. Her iron will set her free from Arthas’ torment. It would not fail her.

With great reluctance, Sylvanas pulled away from the warm, cozy priestess and retreated to arm herself for the day. Last night had been a peaceful dream but reality beckoned. At least her folly had one benefit: her mind and all of her senses were sharper. After taking some time for basic care on her physical form, she retreated to her desk to ponder the Alliance situation, read reports, and make plans. She debated on sending Isoldera to Venomspite. Her people would look after her there.

“Vana?” A soft, husky voice, still thick from sleep, came from the bed. Isoldera reached over but finding nothing, pushed herself up on her arms and yawned.

“I’m here.”

Isoldera mumbled something as she slowly came awake and wiggled her way out from under the covers. Sylvanas allowed herself a fond smile as she observed the usual ritual of Isoldera trying to wake herself up. When the priestess rose and stretched, her quill snapped. Ink splattered everywhere and she cursed as she rushed to stem the flow. Unholy fire shot up her neck and cheeks.

“You alright?”

“Fine. Merely upset the ink.”

A chuckle. “Good to know I can still make you clumsy.”

The audacious priestess stretched again and rose up on her toes. The shirt she wore rode up, revealing the long line of her back, the curve of her waist and hips, and that glorious ass in a pair of tight, violet panties. When she shook her hair back, at least the fall of curls covered most of her naked skin but still left everything below the waist on full display. Then she bent over to reach for her trousers.

Sylvanas tore her eyes away and trembled. If it had been any other time, the priestess would have found herself pinned back in the bed, those flimsy panties torn away as she warmed her teasing backside until it flushed pink and Isoldera begged for more. She closed her eyes as memories assaulted her. The games the two of them played. Mornings where one or the other would pounce for some bed sport before breakfast. Sylvanas endured more than one ribbing from Nathanos for showing up to muster “strutting like a peacock at the height of breeding season.”

“You’re staring.”

The husky purr ignited more than her memories. It shouldn’t have been possible, but her closeness to Isoldera last night meant the warmth of life still lingered within her. It surged through her veins and for the first time in years, her heart raced and sensation trickled through her, leading to a familiar tingle between her legs. Her fingers curled into the desk, the metal tips of her gloves leaving grooves in the wood. Temptation. Dangerous. Distracting. She breathed until she could speak without her voice cracking.

“Get dressed. I’ve considered your request and have a solution.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Isoldera belted her trousers in place and reached for her boots and leg guards.

“In order for us to avoid even a hint of impropriety, it is imperative we maintain as much distance as possible. Therefore, I am reinstating you as an adventurer.”

* * *

Izzy froze, one hand clutching her boot. “Are you serious?”

Sylvanas shot her a pointed look. Of course she was. Izzy swallowed back the threat of tears, the questions, the hurt, and turned away to continue gathering her armor. Her trembling hands fumbled the many belt buckles but that just gave her more time to fret and panic over the announcement. Her vision blurred and she swallowed the lump building in her throat. What happened? What had she done to lose her trust?

“We have forward bases in Dragonblight and Grizzly Hills. Either would be suitable for you.”

“That’s not necessary.” A spike of anger overrode her hurt as she jammed her feet into her boots.

Inside, she cried out for Sylvanas to say she had another solution. She wanted to beg Sylvanas to change her mind. To talk to her. To help her understand what had changed. If the idea of promoting her wouldn’t work, Izzy would stay where she was. Sylvanas studied her for long minutes but nothing showed on her features but neutral indifference. Izzy’s shoulders slumped. There would be no arguing with her, not unless she wanted a real fight, the kind that would draw the exact attention they didn’t want.

“I’m grateful you understand, Isoldera.”

“I don’t though. I  _ don’t _ understand.” She crossed the room and slapped her hands down on the desk. “Why are you sending me away? What have I done to make you believe I’m not good enough to stay with you?”

“You aren’t a fool, don’t start acting like one.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Although the words were sharp, Vana’s tone remained neutral. A sign that Izzy missed something. Something obvious. But what? She fought through her instincts, her emotional reactions, and tried to apply what she knew to why Sylvanas would tell her to leave.

“It’s because of Arthas. You’re scared of what would happen if I distracted you or ended up being used against you so you’re severing everything between us.” While Sylvanas didn’t twitch, her eyes skittered down to the papers at hand. Izzy’s chest tightened. “So I ask again: what did I do that made you think I’m incapable?”

Vana’s jaw tightened and her ruby eyes flared with power. “Our little rendezvous last night will not go unnoticed. A momentary slip on both our parts. It could lead to mere idle gossip or it could ruin everything.”

The ferocity in her voice made Izzy take a step back and she sucked in a breath. On the one hand she understood. Loose talk could prove problematic if the wrong tongues wagged over a mug of ale. But on the other it still hurt that Sylvanas thought her such a liability and Izzy had had enough of proving herself to others. If Vana didn’t trust her capability to defend herself, fine. That wasn’t Izzy’s fault. She firmed herself up and met her lover’s eyes.

“And after? When the war is done?”

“Once Arthas is slain, all we will need to fear is sabotage within the Horde and you are fully capable of protecting yourself against any of their agents.” Sylvanas rose from her chair and circled the desk, resting a hand on Izzy’s shoulder. Izzy looked away, jaw clenched. “I swear to you, little light, I don’t wish to do this. But I’d rather you be far away and disconnected to me than in my forces but unable to stay close where I can protect you.”

That mollified her a little but it wasn’t enough. “You shouldn’t have to protect me at all. I might need help sometimes but I’m not helpless.”

Sylvanas snorted. “No, you’re not.” She sighed. “I cannot fault you for thinking that way. I haven’t verbally acknowledged all you have done but I haven’t been ignorant to it. I’ve trusted no one as much as I have you.”

Izzy nodded. All of that was true. Sylvanas had let down more of her walls than Izzy thought possible after so many betrayals and suffering. In that way, Vana acknowledged all of her efforts. It made everything worth it because she not only won back the woman she loved but got to know the new Sylvanas. A woman that slowly but surely overpowered the memory of the Ranger General in life until Izzy found herself falling all over again.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy murmured. “I didn’t realize that wanting to hear it kept me from seeing how much you’re trying too.”

“Thank you.” Her hand tightened on Izzy’s shoulder. “Since we are speaking truths, if anything happened to you, I would forget my mission, and I have come too far to lose sight of it now. For what he did to me, to our people, I  _ must _ be the one to strike the killing blow.”

Heart a leaden weight in her chest, Izzy dropped her head, her forehead resting on Sylvanas’ collarbone. “I understand. You need this. Moreover, you deserve justice for what he did.” Her arms came up and wrapped around her lover’s strong, armored back. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I’m not severing our connection completely. I expect letters. I may not always be able to reply but I need to know you’re well. You have your communication crystal?” Izzy flicked her earring in response. “Good. If you’re in danger - ”

“I’ll do my best to fight my way out of it. I’ll whisper you if I can’t write for a while or if I’m in danger.”

“That’s my little light.” The pleased, proud tone in Vana’s voice made Izzy smile and she hugged her tighter.

Letting go was the last thing she wanted. Izzy would have given anything for another night like last night. Just one more hour with Vana in her arms where they were the only two people in the entire world. Her arms shook. Tears came again and she couldn’t stop them. There was no anger to help push them back, just the throbbing of her wounded heart. It wasn’t forever. It couldn’t be forever.

“I don’t like this,” Izzy murmured. “I feel like when this is over, it won’t be so easy to pick up where we left off.”

“I promise you, when Arthas is dead, we will be together again.”

With that final declaration, Sylvanas disentangled herself from Izzy’s arms and strode across the room to the window, where she stood at parade rest, hands folded behind her back. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Izzy shakily opened the door, and left her room for the last time. She wasn’t sure how she managed to pack, comb her hair, and make her way to the med tent to announce her departure. Everything passed in a blur of sound and color but nothing felt solid under her feet. As she readied her flying mount for a trip to wherever struck her fancy, a trio of orcs rode up from the valley.

“Who’s in charge?” the leader snapped.

“The Dark Lady is within but I answer in her stead,” Anselm rode forward on his dreadsteed. “What do you want?”

“I bear a message from Overlord Garrosh Hellscream. He’s requesting all able bodies be sent to Warsong Hold to aid in - ”

“Are you out of your tiny mind? We need every soldier we can muster and the Dark Lady will surely tell your overlord the same.”

As they bickered in the background, a spark of an idea lit. She’d go to Warsong Hold. Fly across the inlet to Dragonblight then cross into Borean Tundra, pick up any flight paths along the way, and see if she could be of some use. She’d get to see Garrosh and hopefully have the chance to catch up. His last letter had been brusque and short and then none came at all to her reply. Time to see what was going on. She swung into her saddle, guided her mount to the jump off point, and made sure her cloak was secure before taking off. Once she was airborne, she finally let herself sob into the folds of her cloak.

It was for the best. It had to be. She would keep telling herself that until she believed it, no matter how long it took. No matter how much her creeping doubts tormented her or how many tears she cried, Izzy believed it would end. Arthas would die and their courtship would continue. So she pressed on and didn’t look back.

If she had, she would have seen a dark, forlorn figure in a tattered crimson cloak far below, eyes raised to the sky.


	2. The Wrathgate

**Year 27**

***** *** THREE MONTHS LATER *** *****

Thank fucking Belore for dragon magic. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Northrend turned into a subzone hellscape when summer ended. One of the first things the Life-Binder taught her was how to cast a permanent spell on herself to make her immune to the worst of the cold. She still felt it but not as acutely. Turned out the Dragon Queen hated being cold too. There was something philosophical about that but all Izzy cared about was that she could stay in Northrend and fight.

Her heart raced in excitement. While she and Sylvanas had exchanged letters, Izzy had become caught up in the Nexus War and putting Malygos in the ground. When it was finally over, her first point of business was to say goodbye for a time and make the long overdue trip to see her lover again. She soared above the skies of the Howling Fjord, not on her wind rider, but on her brand new red dragon mount. Taking part in the war meant she became exalted with the Wyrmrest Accord and Alexstrasza allowed one of her flight to choose if they wanted to go with Izzy on her adventures.

“Think you can go any faster, Vaestrasz?” she begged. He growled and huffed in reply and she sighed. “Sorry. I’m just anxious is all.”

Three months but it felt like forever. How had Vana fared? Had the Hand of Vengeance made further headway against Arthas? She hadn’t gotten a letter in a while and a part of her worried that something had happened. The larger part of her argued that if the Horde was ready to face the Lich King, she would have heard about it. According to the apothecaries in Venomspite, Sylvanas had traveled to New Agamand to oversee the testing of the new plague. Izzy wasn’t sure how she felt about such a weapon. It was efficient and would be a huge advantage in future wars. But her senses towards life were far keener after her time with the Dragon Queen and it bothered her on an emotional level that the Forsaken would weaponize the very thing that started their transformations.

Still, if she had to trust something like that to anyone, it would be Sylvanas. She was practical and calculating enough to use it to ruthless efficiency and ensure as few casualties as possible for their people.

“Down there, by the road.” She pointed to the road that curved around New Agamand. “Don’t want to scare anyone.”

When they dropped, Vassy disappeared after licking his chops and eyeing the shoveltusk herds. She chuckled and trotted towards the outpost. The guards nodded to her as she approached. Ferdie snickered.

“So the Amber Witch returns and riding a red dragon no less.” He eyed her but she just winked. “If you’re here to see the Dark Lady, you’re too late. She’s out testing things with the apothecaries. Won’t be back until dark.”

“Damn.” She chewed her lower lip then slowly grinned as an idea occurred to her.

Ferdie snorted. “What mischief are you cooking up now?”

“Funny you should say that.” Izzy rolled her sleeves up. “Where’s the kitchen?”

* * *

It was ready. Finally. After years of trial and error, testing and re-testing, her blight had been perfected.

Sylvanas couldn’t help the small, imperceptible smirk that hooked the corner of her mouth. Unlike the previous plague, hers was more ingenious. The living, the undead, all would fall before it. After discussing storage, shipping, and deployment, she dismissed her people for the night and returned to New Agamand. Her war horse cantered into a completely deserted square. No experiments bubbled. No hacksaws disassembling corpses for abominations. Aside from those standing guard at the entry points, no guards lingered. The only light and sound came from the makeshift mess hall and barracks. A frisson of something shot down her spine along with anger. How dare those fools abandon their posts?

“What is going on?” she demanded.

“Dark Lady.” The deathguard bowed, armor clanking. “It is the Amber Witch. She’s done - she, she’s done - ”

Her eyes narrowed. “Speak plainly, soldier.”

He shook his head. “I - it’s a miracle. A fucking miracle.”

Something echoed in his voice, something oddly close to awe. Sylvanas’s frown deepened. Even the knowledge of her little light being there didn’t ease her misgivings. Still, rather than try and interrogate him any further, she made her way to the barracks and slipped inside. Hushed talk, like the buzzing of a hive, mingled with the clank of plates and silverware. She stilled. Why would all activity stop for something as mundane as a meal? A meal they couldn’t even enjoy? Confused, she entered the dining area -

And stepped into bliss.

A sweet, somewhat astringent scent tickled her nose. One that stirred long ago memories and made her swallow thickly.

Smell? She shouldn’t have been able to smell anything that strongly. Her eyes scanned the area. Her people were either staring at empty plates or slowly tasting the last remnants of the food laid on them. How? Why? The answer came in the form of Isoldera, who leaned against the wall, hair braided and tied back, splotches of flour on her armor, and a pleased smile on her lovely, smudged face.

“What in the name of the Endless Dark is this?”

Many of the Forsaken stiffened in their seats. A few jumped up and shuffled out. She made note of who ran. They would be the first to talk when she got her hands on them. Absolute silence stretched.

“Well?” she snapped.

None would meet her eyes. That only stoked the flames of her growing ire. She wasn’t in control of her own people. Whatever spell Isoldera cast over them had them in her thrall. Or had she cast it in the food? Had she poisoned them? She shot a look at the priestess and stalked over to her. To her credit, Isoldera didn’t duck or quiver in fright. Instead, she met her gaze and straightened.

“I’m sorry, Dark Lady, I guess I didn’t think this through properly.” Isoldera winced and rubbed her arm. “I got carried away.”

“What. Did you.” She loomed over the priestess, her menace rising, and her vision going red as she whispered, “Do?”

Rather than answer, Isoldera reached for something next to her. A small plate with a single piece of familiar confection. Honey cake. Perfectly golden brown and covered in a layer of ground cake crumbs. Carefully, Isoldera lifted the plate with the dessert and held it up. Again, that sweet scent tickled her nose when it shouldn’t have even registered. What witchery had she put in it?

When she didn’t move to take or reject it, Isoldera picked up another fork and took a bite. Then another. Then a third. All from different spots. A common way to test for poisons. When nothing happened, she took the clean fork and cut the tiniest bite. Her eyes didn’t leave Isoldera’s as she raised the morsel to her lips, warning her that if anything untoward happened, there would be consequences.

The first taste of honey on her tongue wasn’t subtle, as the tea had been when Isoldera first introduced it. It was fresh. Vibrant. She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide, as she tasted for the first time in years. A bit of something sharp crossed her pallete but it was gone too quickly for her to identify. Spices? Vinegar? Isoldera was an exceptional chef, it stood to reason she had secrets hidden in the dessert. The shock reminded her of her stupefied forces and she swallowed the bite.

“How?” The single word dragged itself from her throat.

“Something I learned from Alexstrasza. I also have news from Dragonblight and the Wyrmrest Accord.”

Sylvanas blinked. Her gaze lowered on the gaudy crimson and gold tabard she wore with the tower emblazoned on it. It didn’t suit her. She belonged in cooler colors. Her colors. But the mess hall wasn’t a place for that conversation. She gathered herself with the air of someone throwing on a cloak and kept her voice cool and cordial.

“Very well.”

Isoldera bowed and ducked back into the kitchen. With that handled, she turned back to her gathered forces and shot them such a glare all of them abandoned their places with unseemly haste. Once the room was cleared, she followed Isoldera back into the kitchens and closed the door firmly.

“What are you doing here?” All of her carefully controlled emotions surged at the sight of the priestess. Her lips and tongue tingled from the cake and she touched her mouth. “And what have you done?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would affect you so strongly. Or any of them, really.” She ducked out to gather dishes, piled them in a sink full of water, then turned her back to Sylvanas. “The day I left, I was going to Warsong Hold but got sidetracked when I ran into warring dragons around Wyrmrest Temple.”

The story tumbled from Isoldera’s lips but the priestess didn’t turn or even look at her. She stood with shoulders hunched over the sink and scrubbed as though the task required her entire focus. Sylvanas scowled. She spent time with the dragonflight rather than pushing back against Arthas? Her hands curled into fists. That should have been her primary focus. Isoldera swore she shared her goal and the priestess hadn’t broken her word yet. Yet she frittered her time away aiding those overgrown wyrms. Had she already forgotten their promise to reunite once Arthas was dead?

Did she not care? Had her so-called love withered so easily? Her hands clenched into fists and she pressed her lips together until the trembling in her face and chin came from that tension instead of her hurt.

“Alexstrasza taught me a lot after I helped cleanse the Ruby Dragonshrine. I started experimenting with spices and infusing my cooking utensils with my power and realized I could create food the undead could taste.”

“You spent months with the Dragon Queen only to learn something so trifling?” she sneered.

The priestess’ shoulders stiffened and she threw down whatever was in her hands. “It wasn’t trifling to me.” She turned, her soapy hands clenched in her tabard, and eyes flashing. “And it was  _ my _ choice to learn from the dragons.”

“Your priorities - ”

“Are my own. If I’m going to be of use to the Horde, I need to know the full limits of my power. Alexstrasza wields life magic. I couldn’t find a better teacher.”

Abashed, she pressed her lips together. It was the sort of thing Isoldera would do but at precisely the wrong time. Yes, learning about her new powers mattered. If she learned earlier, it would have saved them all time and effort in experiments. She studied the priestess and noted the worry and longing in her gaze. Part of her wanted to sweep Isoldera in her arms but she couldn’t let herself become accustomed to her little light’s presence again. Not when she had finally stopped seeing her in her office, thinking about her warm and rosy in bed, or wishing for her wit and laughter to brighten her day.

Her light had returned but it burned too hot.

With each day that passed, her plans fell into place one piece at a time. The blight was ready. The Horde forces had extended as far as Angrathar the Wrathgate. It barred the entrance to Icecrown Citadel, that bastard’s stronghold, and if her blight was strong enough, it could destroy the gate and finally allow her forces entry. Sylvanas had never felt more focused, more confident, and while a part of her ached for Isoldera’s warmth, she had to stay strong. If she indulged, she risked everything.

She refused to lose her chance and that Isoldera couldn’t seem to understand caused her ire to rise again.

“The Horde is about to launch a powerful strike against Arthas,” Sylvanas began and nodded when Isoldera’s eyes snapped to hers. “My people have spent months perfecting the blight and it’s finally ready. There’s a possibility it could destroy the entrance to Icecrown Citadel. This - this frivolity.” She gestured to the kitchens. “means  _ nothing _ when compared to Arthas. My people cannot be distracted.  _ I  _ cannot be distracted.”

Isoldera’s hands trembled as her voice sharpened but Sylvanas let a curtain of indifference fall between them. There would be time to apologize later, after Arthas was dead. With that in mind, she turned hard on her heel and didn’t look back as she crossed the room and opened the door.

“Clean up this mess. If I see you before this campaign is over and you do something like this again, I will have you banned from my presence.”

A sharp gasp came from Isoldera but she ignored it and left, snapping the door behind her. Her little light would have to understand. As Sylvanas stalked off, prepared to tear strips from her subordinates, something heavy sat low in her stomach. She schooled her features into nonchalance and focused on what mattered: her revenge.

* * *

Stupid. She was so fucking stupid. Izzy threw the last of the cake out, chest tight, and snarled. Sylvanas was right. None of it mattered. Not her progress or the spice compound, nothing, just that she wasted her time when she should have been fighting the Lich King’s forces. Izzy swiped her eyes with her sleeve. Her excitement got the better of her but only served to make Vana angry and her look like a fool. She slammed everything she could as she cleaned up, berating herself for not thinking. She should have been smarter. Tears dripped into the sink. She braced her hands on the edge and breathed.

Even if she had wasted her time, it still hurt to have her efforts so thoroughly crushed and cast aside.

“It doesn’t matter. It  _ doesn’t. _ Killing Arthas is the only thing that matters.”

She had to keep telling herself that until it stuck and she wouldn’t forget again. If she saw Vana again, she wouldn’t even approach her. Better not to risk being banished from her presence. The thought cut her to the bone. How had things changed so quickly? Izzy’s hands shook as she put away the last dish, surveyed the spotless, empty room, and ducked out the back. A whistle summoned Vassy and she swung herself into the saddle. Murmuring softly, she directed him to their new destination.

Agmar’s Hammer.

Three months was long enough to spend in Wyrmrest, it was time to rejoin the war effort. After establishing herself with the orcs in charge and trading her Wyrmrest Accord tabard for a Warson Expedition one, Izzy got to work. As they prepared to assault the Wrathgate she, and her magic, quickly became an asset to the battlefield. Instead of being pushed aside with the other healers, she was on the front lines with the melee soldiers.

Izzy relished every moment.

No one tried to protect her. Sometimes a forsaken or sin’dorei would glance her way but she brushed any concern off. Her entire world became the fight to the Wrathgate. If they could breach that, they would have a clear path to Icecrown Citadel. She rode with several squads of Warsong Offensive soldiers towards the Kor’kron Vanguard, a small camp established on the opposite side of the Court of Skulls from Fordragon Hold. Dranosh Saurfang led the troops and began organizing the assault.

As he handed out assignments, horns blew and cheers echoed from below. Izzy wandered closer to the wooden stake barrier the orcs were known for and squinted. A figure in blue and gold armor marched from the hold, a company of soldiers in two neat columns on either side of him.

“They’re calling the attack already?” 

Alliance rode from Fordragon Hold and smashed into the Scourge gathered in the Court of Skulls. The gate creaked. Roars echoed from within and three giant, armored vrykul, glowing with the Lich King’s power, rushed onto the field. Izzy’s breath caught. Easily as tall as two orcs and wielding enormous weapons, they cut a swathe through the Alliance forces. They’d never survive. Unless -

“Rise up, sons of the Horde! Blood and glory await!” Dranosh’s battle cry echoed above the chaos. “To your mounts!”

Cheers and the call of the Horde battle horn filled the air as every soldier scrambled to charge into the fight. The crush at the front of the ramp leading into the valley made Izzy reevaluate her position. The blood-hungry orcs would be in the thick of things, the tauren and trolls right behind them. A few undead and sin’dorei lingered and Izzy nodded to them. They would do things their way.

“Ranged, I want you to stay either on this ridge or near the bottom. Gather any wounded that stagger free of that clusterfuck and get them up here for healing. Don’t try and get close to the action, you’ll just get trampled.”

“Archers, you heard the High Priestess. Line up, pick your shots, and loose at will. Spellcasters, get as close as you need to but stay in range of cover fire.” A ranger took up his bow and got the others organized. “Can we get a mage table?”

“Healers,” she turned to the next group. “You, you, and you,” she pointed to a shaman and two paladins. “Come with me. We’ll heal from close range down below. Those who stay up here, keep the ranged and outlying melee alive.”

“And us, Amber Witch?” a heavily armored undead warrior asked, gesturing to the remaining melee and close range fighters.

“Cover the flanks and our rear. The last thing we need is for Scourge to creep up from behind.”

He saluted her before leading the others away. Once everyone was in position, they attacked. Spellfire and arrows soared through the air. The melee forces ensured no ghouls or skeletons snuck up from behind or got near the ridge with the other healers. A few people from both factions staggered away from the fighting. Some didn’t. Izzy cast her healing spells as far as she could for Horde and Alliance alike. Sweat trickled down her face and the small of her back. Her muscles quivered and her arms dipped like they were made of warm sand. Finally, finally, they downed the last of the Scourge and Izzy hit the ground.

“Eat and drink as fast as you can,” she barked and coughed before grabbing some conjured water. “We don’t know what - ”

“Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!”

“Well he’s going to die first,” Izzy muttered and drank.

Angrathar opened, its yawning mouth revealing a tall, menacing figure in plate armor glowing with runes.

Izzy choked and shuddered. The Lich King’s malevolence rolled across the field and gripped her by the heart. A few around her sucked in breaths, gasped, or started muttering prayers. Her fingers tightened around the canteen until it shook. His voice, raspy and echoing, slid across the stretch of land between the main force and their little outpost, a predator ready to strike.

“You speak of justice? Of cowardice?” The mocking sneer in his voice hardened. “I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear.”

Arthas’ voice clawed at her soul and his aura pressed in on them on all sides. She’d never been so close to it before. During the Fall, she was on the ships, far from the city gates and Quel’danas. His was a power that transcended the mortal realm and as he mercilessly slew Dranosh, Izzy stood frozen in the wake of it.

“You will pay for all the lives you’ve stolen, traitor.”

What was it with men and rushing headlong into death? The Lich King slew one of their strongest fighters with barely a flick of his fingers. Izzy got to her feet and began making plans to evacuate. For one, they didn’t have the forces to confront Arthas. For another, she would never deny Sylvanas her rightful kill.

“Boldly stated but there is nothing you can - ”

An explosion rocked the Court of Skulls, followed by a very familiar cloud of green smoke. Those near the impact zone screamed in horror. Izzy’s hand flew to her mouth as sinister laughter rang over the canyon.

“Get them out,” she mumbled, limbs numb.

“What?”

“Get them out,” she snapped. “Retreat, retreat - !”

“Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had  _ forgiven _ ?” A voice boomed as skull-decorated catapults lined the ridge. “Behold now, the terrible vengeance of the Forsaken.”

“Sylvanas,” Arthas hissed.

“Putress,” Izzy gasped.

“The Grand Apothecary? What is he doing?” The ranger next to her took a step back. “What’s in those?”

Before she could answer, the canisters launched. She could only watch as they soared through the sky and exploded on impact, releasing the new plague on Horde, Alliance, and Scourge alike.

“Death to the Scourge and death to the living!”

The poison green cloud spread fast and thick over the Court of Skulls. Soldiers ran for their lives but those trapped in the epicenter couldn’t escape fast enough. Their bodies melted into green goo that oozed from plate and mail. Their screams transformed into gurgles before falling silent. In the middle of it all, Arthas collapsed, choking on the blight, but Izzy barely spared him a thought. The cloud continued to spread. Soon it would reach the camps on either side of the valley.

“Blessed Belore, is there anything I can do?” Her eyes darted over the fleeing soldiers to the fort across the way and the people left at her side.

_ Remember the Dragon Queen’s lessons. Fire does not merely destroy. _

It cleansed. Izzy closed her eyes. A shield spell? No, that wouldn’t help. The blight had to be burned away before it reached the camps. A purification spell. Slipping into her healer’s trance, she gathered her power and started to shape the magic. Her vision slowly filled with golden light as energy formed between her hands. Izzy pulled more and more from her core, murmuring prayers, until she held a miniature sun that crackled and blazed with power. Using all her strength, she hurled it onto the field.

A wave of sunfire blanketed the area.

Izzy fed it more magic, guiding it to stretch on all sides as Putress hissed and retreated. The Wrathgate opened and a lone figure limped through in defeat before it slammed shut once more. She had most of the plague under control but the cold started to creep in. She shivered. Her legs wobbled and gave out but she didn’t stop casting. If she did, it would get away from her. More people would die caught in its wake without even bodies to bury for their families. She swallowed thickly and prayed. Even if the cold got in, even if she had to siphon magic protecting her into the purification spell, it was worth it. Pain shot from her chest and she fell to one knee with a cry.

In the distance, the flap of wings drew close. When Izzy looked up, Alexstrasza led three of her flight as they bathed the Court of Skulls, the ridge with the catapults, and everything in between in dragon fire. It consumed the blight and many of the bodies that lay strewn within. Izzy released her magic and trembled where she sat, her magic drained out of her. But she couldn’t rest. There were still the survivors to check on. And Putress. She refused to believe - Sylvanas wouldn’t -

“What the ever loving fuck was that?” The ranger snapped. “The Forsaken, Lady Windrunner, they betrayed us all.”

“No!” The instant denial flew from her lips and she shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t do this. Not to her own people.”

“Then why was Putress here? And where did he get those weapons?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know and right now, we don’t have time to figure it out.” She forced herself to her feet and chugged a rejuvenation potion. “All I know is that she wouldn’t give the order. She’s focused on ending Arthas, like we all are.”

“No matter the cost?” he retorted.

She hesitated. Only a moment but it was long enough for the ranger’s words to take root in the people around them. Izzy didn’t believe it but she couldn’t even muster a logical argument as her shields continued to fall. Her healer’s empathy spun out of control at the devastation around her. The injured and dying begged for relief, for the Light, for mothers and fathers, wives, husbands, and Izzy’s heart cracked under the strain. She needed to focus. People needed her. But she was tapped out and her thoughts continued to stray to Vana. She was the only one with the authority to give such an order, but if she didn’t, then -

“Varimathras,” she whispered.

“What?” the ranger snapped.

“We need a healer over here!” one of the warriors shouted.

Izzy raced into the court and slid next to an orc who groaned and gasped for breath. “Varimathras. Sylvanas left him in charge in her absence. Fucking bastard must have taken over the Undercity.”

The Forsaken around her cursed and muttered among themselves. Izzy healed the orc, burning away the plague in his lungs and blood, before moving onto a troll. She’d get them all on their feet and towards Agmar’s Hammer or the temple then find Vana. She needed to warn her, tell her what happened, before she was accused of treason. Or worse. Izzy froze. No. No, she couldn’t show herself to Vana. Not after what happened at New Agamand. But she had to know. What could she do?

“Those dragons are talking to some of the Alliance,” the warrior muttered.

Izzy glanced up but didn’t spare it much thought. “Do you know where the Dark Lady is?” He shook his head and she cursed. “Send word to Venomspite. She needs to know about a possible coup.”

“What about you?”

“I - I guess I’ll go to the Warchief.”

It was the best solution she could think of. Thrall remained in Orgrimmar overseeing affairs there. As soon as she was certain her patients were as healed as she could make them, she whistled for Vassy and swung herself up. He jumped and climbed up the side of a tall hill before leaping into the sky towards Dalaran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone. This week's chapter is a little shorter than I planned, so, I've decided to upload the next chapter later this week. Could be today, could be this weekend. Either way, there's going to be more ahead and I'm excited to share it with all of you.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe, sane, and as healthy as can be, given the circumstances. See you soon!


	3. Enter the Storm King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coup has erupted within the Undercity. Sylvanas flees to Orgrimmar, barely escaping with her life, and is forced to turn to Warchief Thrall for help reclaiming her city. Izzy is relieved to find her alive but tensions between them continue to rise as they battle their way to Varimathras. When Varimathras lies dead, battle horns sound. The Alliance has infiltrated the city and Varian Wrynn is out for blood.

**Year 27**

A coup. How could she have been so blind?

Sylvanas knew from the start that the Dreadlord wasn’t to be trusted. He was a partner of convenience against Arthas years ago and she planned to eliminate him when the time was right. Yet she became complacent when he showed no signs of rebellion only to reap the consequences of her own failure. She should have been sharper. She should have killed him the minute his usefulness ended. But the bastard chased her from  _ her _ city, unleashing the blight  _ she  _ commissioned, and if it hadn’t been for the efforts of Nathanos and her Dark Rangers, she would have lost her life.

Her body ached as the potions she consumed slowly mended her injuries. She would allow no healer to touch her save for Isoldera but her little light stayed away. It shouldn’t have surprised her after their last encounter but it did, a little. Sylvanas closed her eyes and forced the pain back as Thrall continued to pace.

“Until we reclaim the city, Orgrimmar will be under martial law. Mages from Silvermoon will open portals for our forces.” Thrall barked out orders as Sylvanas could only kneel there and simmer with rage.

Worse than Varimathras was the betrayal by Putress. He was one of her people. She raised him up, made him Grand Apothecary, and he repaid her with a knife in her back. She didn’t know what sort of honeyed promises the Dreadlord whispered in his ear but she intended to find out. Such a betrayal could never happen again. Loathe as she was to admit it, that one of her own would do such a thing cut Sylvanas to the quick. Her people were supposed to be loyal. She was their queen. She set them free from Arthas’ grasp.

How could they turn against her?

“Is there a report on how many were lost at the Wrathgate?”

“Not yet, Warchief.”

Her shoulders tensed. Isoldera stood far closer than before. Sylvanas closed her eyes. The waves of warmth from the priestess caressed her like the softest of hands and she shivered. For as much as she needed to stay sharp, Isoldera’s nearness drew her like a siren’s song. It reaffirmed her decision to keep the priestess away but she would be lying if she said she was pleased by their distance.

“The dragons managed to contain the blight to the Court of Skulls but I doubt we can enter - ”

Blue-white teleportation magic flared and Jaina Proudmoore appeared in the hold, her expression severe.

“Jaina,” Thrall froze in his pacing, his eyes on the mage. “What are you doing here?”

“Tell me it isn’t true,” she demanded. “Tell me the Horde wasn’t responsible for what happened at the Wrathgate.”

Sylvanas bristled. The blight worked as intended. It weakened Arthas and that couldn’t be ignored. She had to arm her people with it, no matter what Thrall or the rest of the Horde thought. She rose from where she knelt and faced the other woman. Jaina refused to look at her, blue eyes skittering away under Sylvanas’ challenging glare. Of course she wouldn’t. The so-called peacemaker only had a spine of iron when it came to upholding her passivity. A riot of curls filled her vision as Isoldera stepped between them.

“Lady Windrunner is blameless,” her little light’s voice rang firm with conviction and Sylvanas’ stomach fluttered. “I was there at the Wrathgate. Putress wanted complete destruction of everything in that valley. His exact words were, ‘death to the Scourge and death to the living.’ His actions were part of a personal grudge, most likely nursed since he was raised as Forsaken, and had nothing to do with the Forsaken as a whole.”

“That is a relief to hear but Varian is still planning to declare war on the Horde for the death of Bolvar Fordragon.”

“The Horde has no interest in war with the Alliance,” Thrall reassured her and stepped down from his throne. “Only the Lich King would gain if we descended into bloodshed. I assure you Jaina, justice will be done.”

Sylvanas said nothing, her world narrowed to the two women before her. One who proclaimed her love in the past but rejected her after Arthas turned her into a banshee. The other who loved her once, and loved her still, even after Sylvanas tried to keep her away. Unbidden, her hand reached out and she curled her fingers in the ends of Isoldera’s hair. She gave a gentle tug and the priestess’s breath hitched, her shoulders tensing and relaxing as Sylvanas stroked the smooth strands between her gloved fingers. As Thrall placated Jaina, whose gaze narrowed on the two of them, Sylvanas sneered at the mage.

Jaina tore her gaze away and managed a smile for the orc. “I will do my best to convince Varian to stay his hand but his temper...he isn’t the man he was and Bolvar was like a brother to him.”

“Thank you Jaina. That’s all we can ask.”

Blue eyes shot one last look at her and Isoldera before Jaina vanished. Sylvanas scowled. While she had no doubt the mage would do her best, the peacemaker could never stand up to her king’s ire.

“Excuse me Dark Lady,” Isoldera murmured and stepped away.

Saying nothing, Sylvanas let her hand fall as she turned back to Thrall to discuss plans to retake the city. Mages opened portals and sent strike forces and scouts ahead to report back on the situation. Once everything was in place, they rode through. A flash of arcane magic and a lingering sense of dizziness and they arrived at the gates of the Undercity. Even above, the roars of demons reached her and she clenched her teeth.

“Heroes of the Horde, your Warchief calls!” His roar echoed throughout Tirisfal and carried through the portals back to Orgrimmar. “Gather behind me at the gates of the Undercity. Soon we march upon our fallen city and reclaim it - for the Horde!”

Of course the orc took all the credit. The Undercity was  _ hers _ . Lordaeron was  _ hers. _ The Forsaken were the only reason the Horde even had a foothold in the Eastern Kingdoms. Without years of toil, ichor spilled, and careful planning, the Undercity wouldn’t even exist. Sylvanas barely held onto her anger as it grew under injustice heaped upon treachery. Her banshee’s scream threatened to tear itself from her throat but she held onto her control by a sliver, aided by Isoldera’s steadying presence.

As Thrall beseeched the spirits for their blessing, Sylvanas reflected on her anger back at New Agamand. Isoldera’s tendency to follow her heart rather than her head often frustrated her in the past and she still felt justified in her reprimand. Yet the priestess could still be reasoned with, as evidenced by her concentrating on the war and her efforts at the Wrathgate. Perhaps she had been a little harsh - Sylvanas froze. Her thoughts had been so full of Varimathras and Putress’s betrayal and what it meant for her and her position in the Horde, it only just occurred to her.

Isoldera could have died at the Wrathgate. Melted by blight. Slain by Arthas, her soul stolen to be tortured, and her body defiled. Icy horror sliced through her. If Isoldera had died from the blight...it would have been indirectly her fault. She ordered its creation. She trusted Putress and Varimathras. Before her thoughts could spiral, she ruthlessly slammed them away. At that moment, it didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was getting her city back.

“Warchief, I believe the sewers might be a more appropriate place to launch the assault. The elevators - ”

Lightning rumbled and a wave of magic crashed over them all. Thrall’s spirits empowered the troops with strength and speed and he roared in triumph. Sylvanas sneered. If the fool wanted to waste his precious orcs on a perilous charge, who was she to argue? Those among her people who joined her would stay back. They knew their city better than any desert dweller. Thrall summoned the wind to clear the entrance and as they raced into the courtyard, a despicable sight met her eyes.

Varimathras stood on the center fountain, summoned fell fire raining around him, and laughed. “Welcome to my kingdom of darkness.” His eyes met hers and he smirked. “Did you enjoy my minion’s terrible creation? Potent, is it not?”

She would relish rending his flesh from his body when she got her hands on him. Sylvanas dismounted and dismissed her horse as she drew her bow and nocked an arrow. She only needed one. The dreadlord’s gaze shuttered and his wings flared. A telltale sign of nerves. She smirked.

“But enough prattling,” he tried to brush it off but Sylvanas had seen through his bravado. “You wish to reclaim your city? Come then,  _ heroes _ . Your souls will fuel the host. You will have this place back in pieces.”

She released. The arrow whistled through the air but Varimathras disappeared through his portal. Cursing the demon to the Endless Dark, she readied more arrows as abominations charged up from below. They fought their way through the courtyard and Sylvanas added the power of her voice to bolster their troops. Rays of sunlight blessed their fighters as Isoldera healed and decimated all who stood in her way. Once they claimed the courtyard, they made their way inside, only to discover more surprises.

“They’ve destroyed the elevators,” Thrall snarled.

Sylvanas cautiously moved forward and peered down. Subtle disturbances lay in the gloom but even in death, her keen eye missed nothing. Nothing but blight awaited any foolish enough to jump.

“The shaft is trapped. A fall would mean certain death.” She straightened.

“Great air spirits, heed my call once more.”

As gusts of wind carried her, Thrall, and their troops down, she kept a sharp eye out for Isoldera, but the priestess stayed back, tending to the wounded and clearing the blight as the soldiers passed. So Isoldera had devised a way to heal those affected by her new plague already. It must have been something she learned from the dragon queen. Isoldera had spoken of her lessons with Alexstrasza. Before she could question what else the priestess had learned, she once more shut down that train of thought.

As they fought their way through to the Trade Quarter, Sylvanas couldn’t help her rising anger and dismay. The city was in ruins. The bodies of her people lay strewn in pieces across the floor, armored Deathstalkers and civilians alike. Chunks were torn from the various stairwells, the inn’s entrance caved in, and blight filled the atmosphere. All of her work, her peoples’ work, their struggles to rebuild their lives, in shambles.

“What have they done to my beautiful city?” Sylvanas couldn’t hide the outrage in her voice if she tried. Her hands tightened on her bow. “The only redemption for the traitors responsible for this will be an agonizing death.”

“Don’t worry,” Isoldera’s voice came to her left as the priestess moved to her side. “We’ll make sure your vengeance is swift and painful.”

The words lightened her heart and for a moment, Sylvanas hoped her little light would turn to her and smile. But her golden eyes remained forward, intent on their next steps. The dismissal stung more than she cared to admit. 

“Lead the way, Dark Lady, and we will follow.”

Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise but she maintained her outward calm. “Very well, Warchief. The Royal Quarter is this way. Stay on the path and be on guard. There’s no telling what Varimathras and Putress have in store for us.”

Sylvanas had a feeling Varimathras awaited her in the Royal Quarter. The demon would have seized her throne for himself to lord over her city. Well, she would ensure he didn’t live to regret that mistake for long.

* * *

Varian paced next to the war table as he awaited Jaina’s return. With every step he struggled to keep his eyes from the mangled shield some adventurers managed to extract from the Court of Skulls. He couldn’t believe it. Bolvar, his friend and ally, the man who raised his son when Varian couldn’t, was dead. Never to come home to Stormwind. Lost first to that damned blight and then to dragon fire. They couldn’t even recover his body for burial. Anduin had retreated into himself and sought comfort in prayer and the church but only one thing would comfort Varian.

Horde blood on his sword.

He conferred in the communication crystal that the forces he sent ahead with Broll and Valeera were on their way to the Undercity. The blight came from that witch, Sylvanas Windrunner. Her monstrous undead would pay for Bolvar’s death and he would retake Lordaeron in one fell swoop.

Arcane magic bloomed and Jaina reappeared.

“Well?” he snapped.

“A coup. I received the report from one of the Horde survivors of the Wrathgate. Varimathras has taken the Undercity.”

He snorted. “That changes nothing.”

A beat. Jaina’s voice wavered. “Varian, what have you done?”

“What I should have done ages ago.” He jabbed his finger at the map. “We’re taking back Lordaeron for the Alliance and declaring war on the Horde for their actions.”

“But they weren’t responsible. This was a small insurrection of rebels who - ”

“They are still part of the Horde and the Horde must pay,” he snarled back. “Besides, we only have the word of this so-called survivor that it was a coup at all. Probably an undead trying to cover their guilt.”

“It was an elf, actually.” Jaina’s voice turned frigid. “One I know personally. She has no reason to lie to me.”

He waved that off. “Reason or not, we’re going to attack the Undercity and purge the undead abominations from the ruins.”

Jaina pursed her lips and he resigned himself to the mage’s presence. As long as she didn’t interfere. He stalked towards the portal the mages kept open, mentally going over his strategy. They would hunt down Putress and eliminate him first. Horde forces would likely be there to try and retake the city as well. He would let them handle the demon while he dealt with Bolvar’s murderer then finish them off himself.

With a flash of the portal’s magic, he rejoined his allies and the small, elite contingent of soldiers and adventurers stationed outside the sewers. Valeera guided them to the rarely-used side entrance so they could slip in under the Horde’s noses. It was one Varian dimly recalled from his childhood but only because he and Arthas had spent time riding and hunting in the forest. Though he didn’t have fond memories of visiting the young prince, he was grateful for the political alliance as it allowed them to slip in the once grand city.

Once but no longer.

“Hidden inside this defiled city is the wretch responsible for murdering our brothers and sisters at the Wrathgate. He must be brought to justice.”

Soon, they would march upon the ruins and cleanse it of its evil. It would never be the same, not after the influence of the forsaken, but he could at least reclaim it in Terenas’ memory. His kingdom deserved better than its fate. He used his rallying cry to empower them all and renewed strength flowed into the gathered troops. They made their way into the sewers, he and Broll in the lead.

“Our descent into the depths of depravity begins,” he muttered, gaze darting at every corner. “Be on guard. Jaina, lend us your strength.”

“Right away, your majesty.”

Only a fool would have missed the sarcasm in her tone. He ignored it as Jaina used her magic to empower their troops. Abominations, demons, and ghouls surged in waves from below but he didn’t hesitate. Shalamayne carved through rotting flesh and fel fire as easy as tearing a piece of parchment. Rage pulsed in his veins and fueled his berserker frenzy until only piles of offal and gore splatters remained of their foes. Varian covered his nose for a moment, eyes watering, as they reached the canals.

“What’s happened here? There are corpses everywhere.” Jaina muffled a cough in her sleeve and gagged.

He approached the edge of the stairway and knelt. Footprints. Multiple sets. Heavy combat boots to cloth slippers. The largest ones belonged to orcs. He knew their prints and their stench, even amidst the carnage of battle.

“Horde,” he growled and rose. “By the looks of the struggle, they’re here en force. Stay alert. There’s no telling what horrors await us.”

Broll sneezed and rubbed his nose with a paw. The hulking bear stayed close to his side, the two of them ready to charge in as they had in countless battles before, as they descended the slippery stone stairs into the outer ring. Screeches and gleeful shouts reached his ears, mixed with war cries and the clash of weapons. It came from a narrow corridor that split off from the main area. From the raised platform and enormous double doors, he deduced it led to the throne room.

Tempting but not their target. He wanted Putress.

“Do not let them pass, minions!” a reedy, rasping voice cried. “Kill them! My work must not be interrupted!”

“He’s in the main chamber. There!”

Varian ran ahead, his blood high for the kill. All he could see was Bolvar. His solemn smile but bright eyes as he welcomed Varian home. His determination as he fought Onyxia to rescue Anduin. Even years back, he heard the man’s rare laughter as he coached a new father how to hold his infant son. Bolvar protected his boy and his kingdom while he couldn’t and his death was a rock of guilt that lay heavy on his shoulders. The only justice would be at the end of his sword.

In the main chamber, Putress had more surprises waiting for them. But no matter how many slimes he threw at them, or abominations he summoned, or concoctions he drank, Varian’s strength never wavered. Bolts of ice magic, arrows, and bullets tore through their foes but it was him at the epicenter, Shalamayne a blur in his hands, as he finally landed the killing blow. He stood over the body, splattered in gore, his sword gems blazing orange, and glared at it. The swift end was more mercy than he deserved.

“Justice is served. What say you now, Putress?” he spat.

Jaina shot him a sideways glance but didn’t rebuke him. She went among the soldiers, checking on the wounded, and left him to his thoughts. His eyes raked across the walls of the chamber as bile crawled up his throat. The hope to reclaim Lordaeron for the Alliance and restore the once-great city to its proper place was dashed. The atrocities committed by the Forsaken tainted the very air they breathed. Varian’s anger roiled under his skin as he took in the horrific sight. Mangled human corpses. His people. Victims of that noxious Putress and his plague. 

“How much longer will we allow these savages free reign in our world?” he demanded, gesturing his blades to the bodies. “Look around you, brothers and sisters. Open your eyes. Look at what they’ve done to our kingdom. I have seen the Horde’s world. I have been inside their cities. Inside their minds…”

Memories rose and threatened to choke him. Of blood and death in the arena. Hands grasping and prodding in his most vulnerable places. Pain. Endless pain and humiliation. The fear of never seeing another day or learning who he was. He clenched his jaw against the darkness that clawed at his mind and forced it back. He had to remain strong. For his people. For those lost to the Horde’s atrocities.

“I know what evil lies in the hearts of orcs.”

His father, his pride, his freedom, and now the life of one of his closest friends. Another hero lost to their bloodlust.

_ “The Undercity belongs to the Horde once more! Lok’tar!” _

The familiar voice rang through the stone corridors, echoing with a too familiar beastial roar.

“Thrall? Here?” His hands trembled around his blades. “Onward. We end this  _ now _ .”

“Varian, stop!” Jaina stepped in front of him. “I won’t help you do this.”

He brushed her aside. As much as he valued her as an ally, the insults from the Theramore summit still lingered. How Thrall dared to bring along the slaver and call him advisor. The same orc would still be gleefully sending him to his death and raking in the money if he hadn’t escaped. The Horde had to be destroyed. The orcs who shamed and enslaved him would be exterminated. He would see to it with his own hands _. _ He led his troops and the champions of the Alliance through the tunnels. As they approached the Royal Quarter, those hateful, blood red banners flickered in his vision.

“You should all know, the orcs have a battle cry: lok’tar ogar,” he spat. “It means victory or death. Fitting, because I shall bring death to the Horde no matter the obstacle. To the throne room!”

Behind him, his forces cheered and charged ahead. Varian’s blood pounded in his veins. The wolf within him howled, scenting blood in the air. The urge to hunt and kill rose until he bared his teeth in anticipation. Finally, the chance to pay back even a small fraction of his humiliation. His soldiers fanned out before him. Thrall froze where he stood. On the throne, the Banshee Queen raised her bow. He approached the dais, Shalamayne poised to taste greenskin blood.

“I was away too long. My absence cost us the lives of some of our greatest heroes.” He curled his lip as he approached. “Trash like  _ you _ and this evil witch were allowed to roam free, unchecked. But the time has come to make things right. To disband your treacherous kingdom of murderers and thieves. Putress was the first strike. Many more will come.”

Thrall snarled around his tusks. He crouched low, hammer in hands, poised to swing. Varian’s vision bled red. The Horde forces faded at the edge of his vision as did the Banshee Queen atop her throne. All he saw was the source of his pain and his entire being screamed to eliminate it.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Thrall. For every time I was thrown into one of your damned arenas, for every time I killed a green-skinned aberration like you, I could think of only one thing.”

Beyond his freedom, beyond his yearning for the life he knew, even beyond the urge to see Isadora again, he had one thought. One hope that kept him alive when the darkness closed in around him.

“What our world could be without you and your twisted Horde. It ends  _ now _ , Warchief.” He took a breath. “Attack!”

His troops stormed the platform but a golden barrier snapped into existence. It wrapped around the dais, blocking off the Horde from his assault. Varian roared and slammed his sword against it. It didn’t buckle. It barely flickered. Thrall’s eyes widened for a moment and he stepped back. His look of stunned disbelief would have been comical if Varian could feel anything but his wrath. So close. He’d been so close to eliminating the symbol of everything he hated only to fall short when it mattered most.

“Who?” he snarled. “Show yourself, coward.”

Jaina grabbed his arm. “Varian, please don’t do this, you don’t understand - ”

A figure moved from the back of the lines. His swords dropped. All of the anger melted from him as she stepped forward. Golden eyes filled with hurt and sorrow met his and his chest tightened. She stood taller, stronger, but still the priestess he remembered. Dressed in armor glowing with enchantments, her hair no longer a riotous halo but tamed into a messy braid that draped over one shoulder, she was like a memory from a dream. Her hands shimmered with golden fire as she stood on the bottom step. The thin line of magic remained between them. So fragile yet powerful, Like her.

“Hello Lo’Gosh,” she murmured.

* * *

Vana was so close, near enough she could catch the faint scent of dried roses, but Izzy had to keep her thoughts on the battle ahead. She could only imagine what Sylvanas was feeling. The betrayal was one thing but having to rely on Thrall and Vol’jin to help take back her city would have cut her pride to shreds. She ached to offer a comforting word or touch but Vana’s warning rang in her mind. If she lost sight of the mission for even a second, she’d only anger her, and that was the last thing Izzy wanted. They carved their way through the outer rings and towards the Apothecarium and the Royal Quarter beyond. Izzy paused to murmur blessings to the fallen as they passed.

“Hold.” Sylvanas held up her hand and stopped near the canal. “I sense dark magic. Stand ready.”

“Clever girl.” Varimathras’ voice, oily and condescending, echoed across the stone walls. “My brothers have grown hungry. Your souls will sate their appetites.”

Demons surged on them from all sides. Izzy summoned her magic and imbued it to her mace. With every swing, a small supernova exploded against a demon’s chest. The beasts soon learned to tread cautiously around her, as they should. Vana wasn’t the only one channelling her anger through fighting. Izzy had plenty to spare herself. Varimathras always rubbed her the wrong way because he was a demon but Putress? How could he have betrayed his queen? His words echoed.

Death to the Scourge. Death to the living.

Putress must have held onto his need for revenge tighter than anyone knew. She didn’t know his story personally but becoming a forsaken was traumatic in and of itself. The rejection by the living, the violation of body and soul, the anger and hate that must have built over the years had to eventually go somewhere. Still, he hurt Vana. After everything she did to ensure the forsaken had a place in the world, he turned his back on her. Izzy would gladly deliver the killing blow herself if she saw the little rat again.

When they crossed the bridge to reach the throne room, Varimathras’ voice echoed from within.

“Bring down the walls. Now!”

Beneath their feet, the floor rumbled and bucked. Izzy cried out and buckled as stones collapsed inward. Chips of statues and other debris fell around them as the Undercity shook and Izzy quickly cast a shield to protect their group from the worst.

“Coward,” Thrall yelled. “You think to stop the Warchief of the Horde with pebbles? I will show you the true power of the elements.”

Izzy rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny that it was handy having the shaman along. Still, did he have to grandstand every time? At last, no more obstacles stood in their way as they stormed the heart of the Undercity and confronted Varimathras. The traitor stood in a summoning circle, surrounded by portals on all sides. Fear streaked down her spine like lightning as he called for his demonic masters.

“Welcome to your future...what little there is left of it.” And the dreadlord cackled as he called forth legions of demons.

She lost herself in the fight as they were swarmed on all sides. With magic and mace, she narrowed her thoughts to nothing but the demons. She prayed to Belore and drew on the goddess’s might to bring down destruction. Yet out of the corner of her eye, she kept watch on Sylvanas. Whenever a demon managed to land a hit, she instantly cast her healing magic to the other woman. As they had so many times before, their eyes met over the battlefield, but Vana was the first to look away. Izzy’s chest tightened with hurt and never in her life had she felt so wretched.

When Varimathras finally fell, Izzy turned her attention to the wounded and not on running to Sylvanas’ side.

“We are victorious! The Undercity belongs to the Horde once more! Lok’tar!” Thrall raised Doomhammer in triumph and the rest of the orcs joined in with shouts and cheers for their warchief.

Izzy rolled her eyes again as she finished with the battle-brained idiots but again her gaze went to Vana. She swallowed. Professional. She needed to stay calm and collected. There were too many orcs around for her to lose her head.

“Are you injured, Dark Lady?” Izzy forced the polite words past the lump in her throat as she stood at attention.

Sylvanas looked her over closely, eyes narrowed, before turning her head away. “Mere trifles but you may tend to them if you wish.”

It wasn’t a dismissal. Or banishment. Izzy released the breath she held and unthinkingly reached for Vana’s hand. She froze mere inches from touching it. That wasn’t professional. Far too intimate. But she was a healer, damnit, touching her patients was normal. Izzy wrestled with what she should say until the choice was taken from her.

“Join me, Dark Lady. You have fought hard and spilled much blood for this right. The Royal Quarter is yours,” Thrall announced.

It was gone in a flash but Vana’s eye twitched in irritation. Izzy fought the urge to snort. Of course the Royal Quarter was hers. Did Thrall have nothing better to do than make an ass of himself? Sylvanas walked away and said something gracious to the Warchief before ascending the dais and laying a hand on the rubble that had once been her throne. Her expression lay hidden in the shadows of her hood but Izzy spotted the grimace of rage and pain twisting her face. Her eyes burned redder, hotter, and her hand curled into a fist. Izzy shook with the force of her longing and prayed she could leave before she did something stupid.

“Now we must deal with that wretch, Putress,” Sylvanas hissed.

“We shall, Sylvanas.” Thrall nodded.

Just as he signaled the troops to regroup, horns rang out. Izzy halted only a moment before she took up a defensive position.

“Alliance horns? Here?” Thrall clenched Doomhammer and moved to the front of the room. “Stay on your guard!”

As heavily armed soldiers rushed into the room and fanned out, a tall, impossibly broad human marched through the center. He too wore the blue and gold of Stormwind, but unlike the sleek, polished look of his guard, he bore fur and leather, giving him a rougher, wilder look. It suited the long, spiky hair tied back in a high tail and the rough gravel of his voice. Something about it tugged at Izzy’s memory.

“Trash like  _ you _ and this evil witch were allowed to roam free, unchecked. But the time has come to make things right. To disband your treacherous kingdom of murderers and thieves. Putress was the first strike. Many more will come.”

When he stepped into the light, Izzy swallowed a cry of dismay. She knew that face. She dreamed of those eyes. Though he had more scars and carried a new weight on his shoulders, he still stood tall before his enemies. After years of waiting, wondering, wishing, he finally reappeared but it wasn’t quite him either. Lo’Gosh the Ghost Wolf, gladiator of the arena, was there in the armor and hair and eyes. Yet Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, lingered in the proud tilt of his chin, the timbre of his voice, and the confidence he wore like a cloak. She closed her eyes but it didn’t change the truth.

The universe played sick games. She had developed feelings for the man who became her faction’s greatest enemy.

“Attack!”

The word snapped Izzy out of her stupor and she reacted. She cast her strongest shield and poured all of her will behind it. Lo’Gosh - Wrynn - stormed her shield and struck it with all his might. Each blow resonated through her body, putting pressure on her teeth and vibrating in her bones, but she held on. To protect Vana, she would endure anything. He finally had enough of smashing her magic and pulled back with a growl.

“Who?” he snarled. “Show yourself, coward.”

“Varian, please don’t do this, you don’t understand - ” Another familiar voice. Lady Jaina Proudmoore.

Izzy fought down a hysterical laugh. So all the ghosts of her past were coming forward. Perfect. Just what she needed. She teetered on the brink of an emotional breakdown but managed to pull herself together enough to approach the enraged Alliance king. When she stepped down the dais, his swords dropped. The look of horror and anguish on his face pierced her heart and she bit her lower lip until it bled. Strong. She had to stay strong. Izzy ached to touch him, to talk to him, something, but she had to stay behind the fucking shield. The emotions were too thick in the room to risk it.

“Hello Lo’Gosh,” she murmured.

A thin barrier that flickered and flashed with sunfire was the only thing that separated them yet it felt like an impenetrable wall.

“You.”

“Yes.” She hardened her voice, unwilling to show him weakness, even though it killed her to do it. “You call my home a kingdom of murderers and thieves. You insult the woman who died a hero to my people. You think of all the Horde as evil and twisted. So tell me, High King, what does that make me?”

He flinched as if she’d struck him and actually took a step back. A myriad of emotions crossed his face and she read them all: shock, dismay, hurt, betrayal, and anger. Always anger. His emotions radiated from him, raw and unbound, and that concerned her. When they had met years ago, Lo’Gosh remained in control. He didn’t let any of his internal turmoil show unless she caught him by surprise or managed to coax down his guard. Yet the man who stood before her wasn’t the same. There was something wrong inside him. Something that called to the healer in her on a soul deep level.

She stepped through the shield.

Noises of protest and aggression rose but Lo’Gosh silenced his people with a raised hand. She didn’t miss the slight tremor in his fist. It mirrored the one that shot through her and left her weak at the knees. She prayed to the goddess for calm and to protect her heart. She reached for him but stopped herself before she made contact.

“Leave this place, High King.” Her voice remained firm but not unkind. “Your dealing with Putress was admirable but there’s nothing left for you here.” Her eyes lifted to the mage hovering behind him and she smiled. “Lady J, it’s good to see you again. Would you be so kind as to take him home?”

Jaina flushed at the old nickname but her gentle question broke the tension and silence between them. Izzy turned to go back to her people when a powerful hand clad in a plate gauntlet closed around her wrist.

“Your promise,” he croaked as the teleportation spell took shape.

Her eyes widened briefly and she took half a step back. Lo’Gosh’s voice danced on the edge of breaking. His grip was firm but his hand shook. Izzy reached down and gently pried his fingers off before lacing them with hers. She sent out her magic to soothe his wounded soul and gave him a tender smile.

“Isoldera. My name is Isoldera Ambershield.”

The Alliance contingent vanished and Izzy turned to face the hard, suspicious stares of her peers, her Warchief, and her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait so here's chapter three early. Two and three are like two halves of a bigger whole so it made more sense to post them on the same day.
> 
> Thanks for reading and see you next week!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back everyone! Can you believe a month has passed since "Promise" wrapped? I can't. 2021 seems determined to be just as crazy as 2020 but I'm determined to keep creating. So, here we are.
> 
> This book's going to be a bit different. I got some helpful critique and am narrowing my focus more to the relationships Izzy's forming, some good, some not so good. It's going to be a wild ride either way, hehe.
> 
> Thank you for dropping by Izzy's corner of Azeroth and stay safe and sane out there everyone. See you next week!


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